On the sixteenth of July, 1864,
J. R. Gilmore, a well-known author, and
Colonel James F. Jaquess, of the Seventy-third Illinois volunteers, obtained a pass through the rebel lines, and visited
Jefferson Davis at
Richmond.
This visit, in many respects, was one of the most extraordinary incidents of the war. With no safe conduct, and no official authority, these gentlemen passed the lines of two hostile armies, gained access to the leaders of the rebellion, and came away in safety; bringing with them information which was of great importance at the time, and proved of vast service to the
Union cause in the election which soon followed.
As it will be matter of history, we condense from the
Atlantic Monthly Mr. Gilmore's account of this singular and most successful enterprise:
When the far-away
Boston bells were sounding nine on the morning of Saturday, the sixteenth
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teenth day of July, we took our glorious
Massachusetts general by the hand, and said to him:
Good-bye.
If you do not see us within ten days, you will know we have ‘gone up.’
“If I do not see you within that time,” he replied, “I'll demand you; and if they don't produce you, body and soul, I'll take two for one--better men than you are — and hang them higher than
Haman.
My hand on that.
Good-bye.”
At three o'clock on the afternoon of the same day, mounted on two raw-boned relics of
Sheridan's great raid, and armed with a letter to
Jeff. Davis, a white cambric handkerchief tied to a short stick, and an honest face — this last was the
Colonel's — we rode up to the rebel lines.
A ragged, yellow-faced boy, with a carbine in one hand, and another white handkerchief tied to another short stick in the other, came out to meet us.
“Can you tell us, my man, where to find
Judge Ould, the
Exchange Commissioner?”
“Yas. Him and ta other 'change officers is over ter the plantation beyont
Miss Grover's. Ye'll know it by its hevina nary door nur winder [the mansion, he meant]. They's all busted in. Foller the bridle-path through the timber, and keep your rag a flyina, fur our boys is thicker 'n huckelberries in them woods, and they mought pop ye, ef they did n't seed it.”
Thanking him, we turned our horses into the “timber,” and, galloping rapidly on, soon came in sight of the deserted plantation.
Lolling on the grass, in the shade of the windowless mansion, we found the
Confederate officials.
They rose as we approached; and one of us said to the
Judge — a courteous, middle-aged gentleman, in a Panama hat, and a suit of spotless white drillings--“We are late, but it's your fault.
Your people fired at us down the river, and we had to turn back and come overland.”
“You don't suppose they saw your flag?”
“No. It was hidden by the trees; but a shot came uncomfortably near us. It struck the water, and ricochetted not three yards off. A little nearer, and it would have shortened me by a head, and the
Colonel by two feet.”
“ That would have been a sad thing for you; but a miss, you know, is as good as a mile,” said the
Judge, evidently enjoying the “joke.”
“We hear
Grant was in the boat that followed yours, and was struck while at dinner,” remarked
Captain Hatch, the
Judge's adjutant — a gentleman, and about the best-looking man in the
Confederacy.
“Indeed! Do you believe it?”
“I don't know, of course;” and his looks asked for an answer.
We gave none, for all such information is contraband.
We might have told him that
Grant,
Butler, and
Foster examined their position from
Mrs. Grover's house — about four hundred yards distant--two hours after the rebel cannon-ball danced a break-down on the
Lieutenant-General's dinner-table.
We were then introduced to the other officials--
Major Henniken of the War Department, a young man formerly of New York, but now scorning the imputation of being a Yankee, and
Mr. Charles Javins, of the provost guard of
Richmond.
This latter individual was our shadow in Dixie.
He was of medium height, stoutly built, with a short, thick neck, and arms and shoulders denoting great strength.
He looked a natural-born jailer, arid much such a character as a timid man would not care to encounter, except at long range of a rifle warranted to fire twenty shots a minute,. and to hit every time.
To give us a
moonlight view of the
Richmond fortifications, the
Judge proposed to start after sundown; and as it wanted some hours of that time, we seated ourselves on the ground, and entered into conversation.
The treatment of our prisoners, the
status of black troops and non-combatants, and all the questions which have led to the suspension of exchanges, had been good-naturedly discussed, when the
Captain, looking up from one of the
Northern papers we had brought him, said:
Do you know, it mortifies me that you don't hate us as we hate you?
You kill us as Agassiz kills a fly — because you love us.
“ Of course we do. The
North is being crucified for love of the
South.”
“If you love us so, why don't you let us go?”
asked the
Judge, rather curtly.
“ For that very reason — because we love you. If we let you go, with slavery, and your notions of ‘ empire,’ you'd run straight to barbarism and the Devil.”
“ We'd take the risk of that.
But let me tell you, if you are going to
Mr. Davis with any such ideas, you might as well turn back at once.
He can make peace on no other basis than independence.
Recognition must be the beginning, middle, arid ending of all negotiations.
Our people will accept peace on no other terms.”
“ I think you are wrong there,” said the
Colonel.
“When I was here a year ago, I met many of your leading men, and they all assured me they wanted peace and reunion, even at the sacrifice of slavery.
Within a week, a man you venerate and love has met me at
Baltimore, and besought me to come here, and offer
Mr. Davis peace on such conditions.”
“ That may be. Some of our old men, who are weak in the knees, may want peace on any terms; but the
Southern people will not have it without independence.
Mr. Davis knows them, and you will find he will insist upon that.
Concede that, and we'll not quarrel about minor matters.”
“ We'll not quarrel at all. But it's sundown, and time we were ‘on to
Richmond.’
”
“That's the
Tribune cry,” said the
Captain, rising; “and I hurrah for the
Tribune, for it's honest, and — I want my supper.”
We all laughed, and the
Judge ordered the horses.
As we were about to start, I said to him:
You've forgotten our parole.
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“ Oh, never mind that.
We'll attend to that at
Richmond.”
Stepping into his carriage, and unfurling the flag of truce, he then led the way, by a “short cut,” across the corn-field which divided the mansion from the high-road.
We followed in an ambulance drawn by a pair of mules, our shadow--
Mr. Javins--sitting between us and the twilight, and
Jack, a “likely darky,” almost the sole survivor of his master's twelve hundred slaves ( “De ress all stole
Massa — stole by you Yankees” ), occupying the front seat, and with a stout whip “working our passage” to
Richmond.
Much that was amusing and interesting occurred during our three--hours' journey, but regard for our word forbids my relating it. Suffice it to say, we saw the “frowning fortifications,” we “flanked” the “invincible army,” and at ten o'clock that night, planted our flag (against a lamp-post) in the very heart of the hostile city.
As we alighted at the doorway of the
Spotswood Hotel, the
Judge said to the
Colonel:
Button your outside-coat up closely.
Your uniform must not be seen here.
The
Colonel did as he was bidden; and with-out stopping to register our names at the office, we followed the
Judge and the
Captain up to No. 60.
It was a large, square room in the fourth story, with an unswept,
ragged carpet, and bare, white walls, smeared with soot and tobacco juice.
Several chairs, a
marble-top table, and a pine wash-stand and clothespress straggled about the floor, and in the corners were three beds, garnished with tattered pillow-cases, and covered with white counterpanes, grown gray with longing for soapsuds and a wash-tub.
The plainer and humbler of these beds was designed for the burly
Mr. Javins; the others had been made ready for the extraordinary envoys (not envoys extraordinary) who, in defiance of all precedent and the “law of nations,” had just then “taken
Richmond.”
A single gas-jet was burning over the mantlepiece, and above it I saw a “writing on the wall” which implied that
Jane Jackson had run up a washing-score of fifty dollars!
I was congratulating myself on not having to pay that woman's laundry-bills, when the
Judge said:
You want supper.
What shall we order?
“ A slice of hot corn bread would make
me the happiest man in
Richmond.”
The
Captain thereupon left the room, and shortly returning, remarked:
The landlord swears you're from Georgia.
He says none but a Georgian would call for corn bread at that time of the night.
On that hint we acted, and when our sooty attendant came in with the supper things, we discussed
Georgia mines,
Georgia banks, and
Georgia mosquitoes, in a way that showed we had been bitten by all of them.
In half an hour it was noised all about the hotel that the two gentlemen the
Confederacy was taking such excellent care of were from
Georgia.
The meal ended, and a quiet smoke over, our entertainers rose to go. As the
Judge bade us good-night, he said to us:
In the morning you had better address a note to Mr. Benjamin, asking the interview with the President.
I will call at ten o'clock, and take it to him.
“Very well.
But will
Mr. Davis see us on Sunday?”
“ Oh, that will make no difference.”
What we did there.
The next morning, after breakfast, which we took in our room with
Mr. Javins, we indited a note — of which the following is a copy — to the
Confederate Secretary of State:
dear sir: The undersigned respectfully solicit an interview with
President Davis.
They visit
Richmond only as private citizens, and have no official character or authority; but they are acquainted with the views of the United States Government, and with the sentiments of the
Northern people, relative to an adjustment of the differences existing between the
North and the
South, and earnestly hope that a free interchange of views between
President Davis and themselves may open the way to such
official negotiations as will result in restoring peace to the two sections of our distracted country.
They therefore ask an interview with the
President, and awaiting your reply, are
Truly and respectfully yours.
This was signed by both of us; and when the
Judge called, as he had appointed, we sent it — together with a commendatory letter I had received, on setting out, from a near relative of
Mr. Davis--to the
Rebel Secretary.
In half an hour
Judge Ould returned, saying: “
Mr. Benjamin sends you his compliments, and will be happy to see you at the State Department.”
We found the
Secretary — a short, plump oily little man in black, with a keen black eye, a Jew face, a yellow skin, curly black hair, closely trimmed black whiskers, and a ponderous gold watch-chain — in the north-west room of the “
United States” Custom House.
Over the door of this room were the words, “State Department,” and round its walls were hung a few maps and battle-plans.
In one corner was a tier of shelves filled with books, among which I noticed
Headley's, “History,”
Lossing's “Pictorial,”
Parton's “
Butler,”
Greeley's “American conflict,” a set of
Frank Moore's “Rebellion record,” and a dozen numbers and several bound volumes of the “Atlantic Monthly,” and in the centre of the apartment was a black-walnut table, covered
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with green cloth, and filled with a multitude of “state papers.”
At this table sat the
Secretary.
He rose as we entered, and, as
Judge Ould introduced us, took our hands, and said:
I am glad, very glad, to meet you, gentlemen.
I have read your note, and
--bowing to me--“the open letter you bring from----. Your errand commands my respect and sympathy.
Pray be seated.”
As we took the proffered seats, the
Colonel, drawing off his “duster,” and displaying his uniform, said:
We thank you for this cordial reception, Mr. Benjamin.
We trust you will be as glad to hear us as you are to see us.
“No doubt I shall be, for you come to talk of peace.
Peace is what we all want.”
“It is, indeed; and for that reason we are here to see
Mr. Davis.
Can we see him, sir?”
“Do you bring any overtures to him from your Government?”
“No, sir. We bring no overtures and have no authority from our Government.
We state that in our note.
We would be glad, however, to know what terms will be acceptable to
Mr. Davis.
If they at all harmonize with
Mr. Lincoln's views, we will report them to him, and so open the door for official negotiations.”
“Are you acquainted with
Mr. Lincoln's views?”
“One of us is, fully.”
“Did
Mr. Lincoln,
in any way, authorize you to come here?”
“No, sir. We came with his pass, but not by his request.
We say, distinctly, we have no official, or unofficial, authority.
We come as men and Christians, not as diplomatists, hoping, in a frank talk with
Mr. Davis, to discover some way by which this war may be stopped.”
“Well, gentlemen, I will repeat what you say to the
President, and if he follows my advice — and I think he will — he will meet you. He will be at church this afternoon; so, suppose you call here at nine this evening.
If anything should occur in the meantime to prevent his seeing you, I will let you know through
Judge Ould.”
Throughout this interview the manner of the
Secretary was cordial; but with this cordiality was a strange constraint and diffidence, almost amounting to timidity, which struck both my companion and myself.
Contrasting his manner with the quiet dignity of the
Colonel, I almost fancied our positions reversed — that, instead of our being in his power, the
Secretary was in ours, and momently expecting to hear some unwelcome sentence from our lips.
There is something, after all, in moral power.
Mr. Benjamin does not possess it, nor is he a great man. He has a keen, shrewd, ready intellect, but not the
stamina to originate, or even to execute, any great good or great wickedness.
After a day spent in our room, conversing with the
Judge, or watching the passers-by in the street — I should like to tell who they were and how they looked, but such information is just now contraband — we called again, at nine o'clock, at the State Department.
Mr. Benjamin occupied his previous seat at the table, and at his right sat a spare, thin-featured man, with iron-gray hair and beard, and a clear, gray eye, full of life and vigor.
He had a broad, massive forehead, and a mouth and chin denoting great energy and strength of will.
His face was emaciated, and much wrinkled, but his features were good, especially his eyes — though one of them bore a scar, apparently made by some sharp instrument.
He wore a suit of grayish-brown, evidently of foreign manufacture, and, as he rose, I saw that he was about five feet ten inches high, with a slight stoop in the shoulders.
His manners were simple, easy, and quite fascinating; and he threw an indescribable charm into his voice, as he extended his hand, and said to us:
I am glad to see you, gentlemen.
You are very welcome to Richmond.
And this was the man who was
President of the
United States under
Franklin Pierce, and who is now the heart, soul, and brains of the Southern Confederacy!
His manner put me entirely at my ease — the
Colonel would be at his, if he stood before
Caesar — and I replied:
We thank you, Mr. Davis.
It is not often you meet men of our clothes, and our principles, in Richmond.
“Not often — not so often as I could wish; and I trust your coming may lead to a more frequent and a more friendly intercourse between the
North and the
South.”
“We sincerely hope it may.”
“
Mr. Benjamin tells me you have asked to see me, to” ----
And he paused, as if desiring we should finish the sentence.
The
Colonel replied:
Yes, sir. We have asked this interview in the hope that you may suggest some way by which this war can be stopped.
Our people want peace — your people do, and your Congress has recently said that you do. We have come to ask how it can be brought about.
“In a very simple way. Withdraw your armies from our territory, and peace will come of itself.
We do not seek to subjugate you. We are not waging an offensive war, except so far as it is offensive-defensive — that is, so far as we are forced to invade you to prevent your invading us. Let us alone, and peace will come at once.”
“But we cannot let you alone so long as you repudiate the
Union.
That is the one thing the
Northern people will not surrender.”
“I know.
You would deny to us what you exact for yourselves — the right of self-government.”
“No, sir,” I remarked.
“We would deny you no natural right.
But we think Union essential to peace; and,
Mr. Davis,
could two people, with the same language, separated by
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only an imaginary line, live at peace with each other?
Would not disputes constantly arise, and cause almost constant war between them?”
“Undoubtedly — with this generation.
You have sown such bitterness at the south, you have put such an ocean of blood between the two sections, that I despair of seeing any harmony in my time.
Our children may forget this war, but
we cannot.”
“I think the bitterness you speak of, sir,” said the
Colonel, “does not really exist.
We meet and talk here as friends; our soldiers meet and fraternize with each other; and I feel sure that, if the
Union were restored, a more friendly feeling would arise between us than has ever existed.
The war has made us know and respect each other better than before.
This is the view of very many Southern men; I have had it from many of them — your leading citizens.”
“They are mistaken,” replied
Mr. Davis. “They do not understand Southern sentiment.
How can we feel anything but bitterness towards men who deny us our rights?
If you enter my house and drive me out of it, am I not your natural enemy?”
“You put the case too strongly.
But we cannot fight forever; the war must end at some time; we must finally agree upon something; can we not agree now, and stop this frightful carnage?
We are both Christian men,
Mr. Davis.
Can
you, as a Christian man, leave untried any means that may lead to peace?”
“No, I cannot.
I desire peace as much as you do. I deplore bloodshed as much as you do; but I feel that not one drop of the blood shed in this war is on
my hands — I can look up to my God and say this.
I tried all in my power to avert this war. I saw it coming, and for twelve years I worked, night and day, to prevent it, but I could not. The
North was mad and blind; it would not let us govern ourselves; and so the war came, and now it must go on till the last man of this generation falls in his tracks, and his children seize his musket and fight his battle,
unless you acknowledge our right to self-government. We are not fighting for slavery.
We are fighting for independence — and that, or extermination, we
will have.”
“And there are, at least, four and a half millions of us left; so you see you have a work before you,” said
Mr. Benjamin, with a decided sneer.
“We have no wish to exterminate you,” answered the
Colonel.
“I believe what I have said, that there is no bitterness between the
Northern and Southern
people. The
North, I know, loves the
South.
When peace comes, it will pour money and means into your hands to repair the waste caused by the war; and it would now welcome you back, and forgive you all the loss and bloodshed you have caused.
But we
must crush your armies, and exterminate your Government.
And is not that already nearly done?
You are wholly without money, and at the end of your resources.
Grant has shut you up in
Richmond.
Sherman is before
Atlanta.
Had you not, then, better accept honorable terms while you can retain your
prestige, and save the pride of the
Southern people?”
Mr. Davis smiled.
“
I respect your earnestness,
Colonel, but you do not seem to understand the situation.
We are not exactly shut up in
Richmond.
If your papers tell the truth, it is your capital that is in danger, not ours.
Some weeks ago,
Grant crossed the
Rapidan to whip
Lee, and take
Richmond.
Lee drove him in the first battle, and then
Grant executed what your people call a ‘brilliant flank movement,’ and fought
Lee again.
Lee drove him a second time, and then
Grant made another ‘flank movement;’ and so they kept on,
Lee whipping, and
Grant flanking, until
Grant got where he is now. And what is the net result?
Grant has lost seventy-five or eighty thousand men--
more than Lee had at the outset--and is no nearer taking
Richmond than at first; and
Lee, whose front has never been broken, holds him completely in check, and has men enough to spare to invade
Maryland, and threaten
Washington!
Sherman, to be sure,
is before
Atlanta; but suppose he is, and suppose he takes it?
You know, that the farther he goes from his base of supplies, the weaker he grows, and the more disastrous defeat will be to him. And defeat
may come.
So, in a military view, I should certainly say our position was better than yours.
As to money; we are richer than you are You smile; but admit that our paper is worth nothing, it answers as a circulating medium; and we hold it all ourselves.
If every dollar of it were lost, we should, as we have no foreign debt, be none the poorer.
But it
is worth something; it has the solid basis of a large cotton crop, while yours rests on nothing, and you owe all the world.
As to resources; we do not lack for arms or ammunition, and we have still a wide territory from which to gather supplies.
So, you see, we are not in extremities.
But if we were — if we were without money, without food, without weapons — if our whole country were devastated, and our armies crushed and disbanded, could we, without giving up our manhood, give up our right to govern ourselves?
Would
you not rather die, and feel yourself a man, than live, and be subject to a foreign power?
”
“From your stand-point there is force in what you say,” replied the
Colonel.
“But we did not come here to argue with you,
Mr. Davis.
We came, hoping to find some honorable way to peace; and I am grieved to hear you say what you do. When I have seen your young men dying on the battle-field, and your old men, women and children, starving in their homes, I have felt I could risk my life to save them.
For that reason I am here; and I am grieved, grieved, that there is no hope.”
“I know your motives,
Colonel Jaquess, and I honor you for them; but what can I do more
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than I am doing?
I would give my poor life, gladly, if it would bring peace and good — will to the two countries; but it would not. It is with your own people you should labor.
It is they who desolate our homes, burn our wheat-fields, break the wheels of wagons carrying away our women and children, and destroy supplies meant for our sick and wounded.
At your door lies all the misery and the crime of this war-and it is a fearful, fearful account.”
“Not all of it,
Mr. Davis.
I admit a fearful account, but it is not
all at our door.
The passions of both sides are aroused.
Unarmed men are hanged, prisoners are shot down in cold blood, by yourselves.
Elements of barbarism are entering the war on both sides, that should make us-you and me, as Christian men-shudder to think of. In God's name, then, let us stop it. Let us do something, concede something, to bring about peace.
You cannot expect, with only four and a half millions, as
Mr. Benjamin says you have, to hold out forever against twenty millions.”
Again
Mr. Davis smiled.
“ Do you suppose there are twenty millions at the
North determined to crush us?”
“I do — to crush your
government. A small number of our people, a very small number, are your friends — Secessionists.
The rest differ about measures and candidates, but are united in the determination to sustain the
Union.
Whoever is elected in November, he
must be committed to a vigorous prosecution of the war.”
Mr. Davis still looking incredulous, I remarked:
It is so, sir. Whoever tells you otherwise deceives you. I think I know Northern sentiment, and I assure you it is so. You know we have a system of lyceum-lecturing in our large towns.
At the close of these lectures, it is the custom of the people to come upon the platform and talk with the lecturer.
This gives him an excellent opportunity of learning public sentiment.
Last winter I lectured before nearly a hundred of such associations, all over the North--from Dubuque to Bangor — and I took pains to ascertain the feeling of the people.
I found a unanimous determination to crush the rebellion and save the Union at every sacrifice.
The majority are in favor of Mr. Lincoln, and nearly all of those opposed to him are opposed to him because they think he does not fight you with enough vigor.
The radical republicans, who go for slave-suffrage and thorough confiscation, are those who will defeat him, if he is defeated.
But if he is defeated before the people, the House will elect a worse man — I mean worse for you. It is more radical than he is — you can see that from Mr. Ashley's Reconstruction Bill-and the people are more radical than the House. Mr. Lincoln, I know, is about to call out five hundred thousand more men, and I can't see how you can resist much longer; but if you do, you will only deepen the radical feeling of the Northern people!
They will now give you fair, honorable, generous terms; but let them suffer much more, let there be a dead man in every house, as there is now in every village, and they will give you no terms — they will insist on hanging every rebel south of----. Pardon my terms.
I mean no offence.
“ You give no offence,” he replied, smiling very pleasantly.
“I wouldn't have you pick your words.
This is a frank, free talk, and I like you the better for saying what you think.
Go on.”
“I was merely going to say, that let the
Northern people once really feel the war — they do not feel it yet — and they will insist on hanging every one of your leaders.”
“Well, admitting all you say, I can't see how it affects our position.
There are some things worse than hanging or extermination.
We reckon giving up the right of self-government one of those things.”
“ By self-government you mean disunion---Southern independence?”
“ Yes.”
“ And slavery, you say, is no longer an element in the contest.”
“ No, it is not, it never was an
essential element.
It was only a means of bringing other conflicting elements to an earlier culmination.
It fired the musket which was already capped and loaded.
There are essential differences between the
North and the
South that will, however this war may end, make them two nations.”
“You ask me to say what I think.
Will you allow me to say that I know the
South pretty well, and never observed those differences?”
“Then you have not used your eyes.
My sight is poorer than yours, but I have seen them for years.”
The laugh was upon me, and
Mr. Benjamin enjoyed it.
“ Well, sir, be that; as it may, if I understand you, the dispute between your government and ours is narrowed down to this : Union or Disunion.”
“ Yes; or to put it in other words: Independence or Subjugation.”
“ Then the two governments are irreconcilably apart.
They have no alternative but to fight it out. But it is not so with the people.
They are tired of fighting, and want peace ; and as they bear all the burden and suffering of the war, is it not right they should have peace, and have it on such terms as they like?”
“ I don't understand you. Be a little more explicit.”
“ Well, suppose the two governments should agree to something like this: To go to the people with two propositions : say Peace, with Disunion and Southern Independence, as your proposition — and Peace, with Union, Emancipation, no Confiscation, and Universal Amnesty, as ours.
Let the citizens of all the
United States (as they existed before the war) vote ‘Yes,’ or ‘No,’ on these two propositions, at a special election, within sixty days. If a majority votes Disunion, our government to be bound by it, and to let
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you go in peace.
If a majority votes Union, yours to be bound by it, and to stay in peace.
The two governments can contract in this way, and the people, though constitutionally unable to decide on peace or war, can elect which of the two propositions shall govern their rulers.
Let
Lee and
Grant, meanwhile, agree to an armistice.
This would sheathe the sword; and if once sheathed, it would never again be drawn by this generation.”
“ The plan is altogether impracticable.
If the
South were only one State, it might work; but as it is, if one Southern State objected to emancipation, it would nullify the whole thing; for you are aware the people of
Virginia cannot vote slavery out of
South Carolina, nor the people of
South Carolina vote it out of
Virginia.”
“But three-fourths of the States can amend the
Constitution.
Let it be done in that way — in any way, so that it be done by the people.
I am not a statesman or a politician, and I do not know just how such a plan could be carried out;. but you get the idea — that the people shall decide the question.”
“
That the
majority shall decide it, you mean.
We seceded to rid ourselves of the rule of the majority, and this would subject us to it again.
But the majority must rule finally, either with bullets or ballots.
”
“
I am not so sure of that.
Neither current events nor history shows that the majority rules, or ever did rule.
The contrary, I think, is true.
Why, sir, the man who should go before the
Southern people with such a proposition, with
any proposition which implied that the
North was to have.
a voice in determining the domestic relations of the
South, could not live here a day. He would be hanged to the first tree, without judge or jury.
”
“ Allow me to doubt that.
I think it more likely he would be hanged, if he let the
Southern people know the majority couldn 't rule,” I replied, smiling.
“I have no fear of that,” rejoined
Mr. Davis, also smiling most good-humoredly.
“I give you leave to proclaim it from every house-top in the
South.”
“ But, seriously, sir, you let the majority rule in a single State; why not let it rule in the whole country?”
“Because the States are independent and sovereign.
The country is not. It is only a confederation of States; or rather it
was: it is now
two confederations.”
“ Then we are not a
people--we are only a political partnership?”
“That is all.”
“Your very name, sir, ‘
United States,’ implies that,” said
Mr. Benjamin. “But, tell me, are the terms you have named-Emancipation, No Confiscation, and Universal Amnesty — the terms which
Mr. Lincoln authorized you to offer us?”
“ No, sir,
Mr. Lincoln did not authorize me to offer you any terms.
But I
think both he and the
Northern people, for the sake of peace, would assent to some such conditions.”
“ They are
very generous,” replied
Mr. Davis, for the first time during the interview showing some angry feelings.
“But amnesty, sir, applies to criminals.
We have committed no crime.
Confiscation is of no account, unless you can enforce it. And emancipation!
You have already emancipated nearly two millions of our slaves-and if you will take care of them, you may emancipate the rest.
I had a few when the war began.
I was of some use to them; they never were of any to me. Against their will you ‘emancipated’ them; and you may ‘emancipate’ every negro in the
Confederacy, but
we will be free! We will govern ourselves.
We
will do it, if we have to see every Southern plantation sacked, and every Southern city in flames.”
“ I see,
Mr. Davis, it is useless to continue this conversation,” I replied; “and you will pardon us, if we have seemed to press our views with too much pertinacity.
We love the old flag, and that must be our apology for intruding upon you at all.”
“ You have not intruded upon me,” he replied, resuming his usual manner.
“I am glad to have met you both.
I once loved the old flag as well as you do; I would have died for it; but now it is to me only the emblem of oppression.”
“ I hope the day may never come,
Mr. Davis, when
I say that,” said the
Colonel.
A half-hour's conversation on other topics — not of public interest — ensued, and then we rose to go. As we did so, the
Rebel President gave me his hand, and, bidding me a kindly good-bye, expressed the hope of seeing me again in
Richmond in happier times — when peace should have returned; but with the
Colonel his parting was particularly cordial.
Taking his hand in both of his, he said to him:
Colonel, I respect your character and your motives, and I wish you well — I wish you every good I can wish you consistently with the interests of the Confederacy.
The quiet, straightforward bearing and magnificent moral courage of our “fighting parson” had evidently impressed
Mr. Davis very favorably.
As we were leaving the room, he added:
Say to Mr. Lincoln from me, that I shall at any time be pleased to receive proposals for peace on the basis of our independence.
It will be useless to approach me with any other.
When we went out,
Mr. Benjamin called
Judge Ould, who had been waiting during the whole interview--two hours--at the other end of the hall, and we passed down the stairway together.
As I put my arm within that of the
Judge, he said to me:
Well, what is the result?
“ Nothing but war — war to the knife.”
“ Ephraim is joined to his idols — let him alone.”
added the
Colonel, solemnly.
I should like to relate the incidents of the next day, when we visited Castle Thunder, Libby Prison, and the hospitals occupied by our wounded; but the limits of a magazine article will not permit I can only say that at sundown
[
86]
we passed out of the
Rebel lines, and at ten o'clock that night stretched our tired limbs on the “downy” cots in
General Butler's tent, thankful, devoutly thankful, that we were once again under the folds of the old flag.
